


Goldfinch Nocturne

by ignis_kun



Series: The Greater Gatsbies: The Rangami Chronicles [8]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Established Relationship, Fireplaces, I Tried, I Wrote This While Listening to Hozier's Music, M/M, Memories, Minimization of Trauma, Multi, Polyamory, Rain, Reading, Reminiscing, Restaurants, Storms, Thunderstorms, Trauma, Vivid Descriptions of Illness, World Travel, they need to communicate but they wont
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27295543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignis_kun/pseuds/ignis_kun
Summary: I specialize in obscure rich boy pairings and letting these people have a stable and open conversation for once since they have been together so damn long. I am so fucking pissed I cannot change the formatting of my fics in.This is due to some good friends enlightening me to this possibility.This ties in with the previous entries in this series, so having that context may help!
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Komaeda Nagito, Amami Rantaro/Komaeda Nagito/Togami Byakuya, Amami Rantaro/Togami Byakuya, Komaeda Nagito/Togami Byakuya
Series: The Greater Gatsbies: The Rangami Chronicles [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984565
Kudos: 11





	Goldfinch Nocturne

**Author's Note:**

> I specialize in obscure rich boy pairings and letting these people have a stable and open conversation for once since they have been together so damn long. I am so fucking pissed I cannot change the formatting of my fics in.
> 
> This is due to some good friends enlightening me to this possibility.
> 
> This ties in with the previous entries in this series, so having that context may help!

It's a cold and rainy night, nestled up by a window with a hot cup of tea in his hands. 

He's been home for about three days now, back from an airplane trip to the Congo. Amami has never enjoyed airplanes much, too crowded, too loud, never enough space and he always feels cramped no matter what seat he's in. Rantaro has only sat beside someone pleasant twice, though he hesitates to call his precious seat mates completely awful. They weren't the worst they could have been, and c'est la vie. His only saving grace was the view outside when he got the window seat, leaning his head against the wall and slowly lulling into sleep as he watches fluffy white clouds, sometimes stained red or black by sunsets or storms respectively. 

Tonight the clouds are grey and stormy, contained outside by the tall window, deep blue curtains falling and just grazing the floor before a grand window out looking a deep black ocean, white caps grazing its surface. Time is only moving past, not moving. The redwood flooring glistening and shining like a ballroom is still in the spinning of the world, Rantaro doesn't see it. His eyes are fixed on the white caps and blowing trees. The chandelier casts a warm glow unto the room, hands warmer from the drink in hand.

He brings it to his lips, quickly bringing it down as the first drops of tea hit his lips. Still too hot, water boiled and poured too recently. He leans back in his seat a bit, fiddling with the edges of the paper tag hanging out of the cup - the end of the teabag.

His eyes wander elsewhere than the window. The ballroom type flooring exists now. So does the large rug, glass table and warm fireplace. The other chairs and couches in the room. Rantaro knows this sitting room could fit many guests, not that he and Togami have many. Togami is reclusive, and Amami may have a sister or two over some of the time. When they can make it out all the way here. He's found a few of them, none of them wanted to stay home for long. They had built new lives for themselves elsewhere. They had their lives and he had his. It was hard at first, but he learnt to accept it. 

Speaking of him, Togami sits, legs crossed and across the room for him, book in hand. Reading through the pages of  _ The Goldfinch _ . Lady, their ragdoll cat rests her head on his lap. When they had first gotten her, he commented that she was, in his words "quite ugly". She's grown on him. 

The soft crackling of the fireplace is the only noise that fills the room, along with the occasional flit of pages. It feels warm here. It feels nice. 

Sometimes they sat together, sometimes they sat apart. Truly, it depended on the night. Amami would be leaning on Togami’s shoulder as always, scanning the pages of the book with him, but tonight he’d like to enjoy watching the storm and watch the raindrops race to the bottom of the window frame. Left is moving faster than right, right has gotten a gain on left, left pulls forwards again and wins the race. 

He turns his attention back to Togami again. 

Rantaro himself had read the novel, motivated by watching the movie. He wasn't as avid of a reader as he was when he was a child, though he's been getting back into the habit since beginning to live with his partner. Libraries and books themselves remain a comfort place of his. Those little hidden secrets or titles in each one that sometimes the owner themselves of the library forgot, the smell of old books, the memory of his younger self burying himself into different corners of said places finding comfort in the atmosphere and silence while he flipped through the pages of a novel he had found or a comic book. 

His face turns pensive. He's about halfway through the book, and he seems to be thinking rather hard on something. Intrigued by it. 

There's the ring of a doorbell that sounds through their home. 

"Aloyuis will get it."

“There isn't anyone coming over today, yeah?

Togami shakes his head. 

“Not for a day at least.”

Most likely some salesman that’s trying to page in but that would undoubtedly be sent away, or one of the cleaners got locked outside.

Rantaro nods back, getting up from where he was sitting on the windowsill. His cup travels with him, placed on the glass table before he takes a seat beside Togami. Physical proximity, it’s something they got a bit less of now that they weren’t together all the time. But the time alone was good for both of them. Both of them knew they needed that time in solitary. They enjoy one another’s company, but the company of another can feel suffocating at times. Right now is not one of those times.   


He takes a quick glance at what he’s reading, taking up a spot for his head on Togami’s shoulder. He’s still exhausted from the plane, but he’s awake enough to keep up the pace. He knows Togami will slow down for him if Amami asks him, though it wouldn’t be without a little quip and a “if you insist”. His thoughts linger on the pages, and he can understand why Togami expression has turned. 

The taxi’s there, Theo needs to hurry, he’s panicked, he’s young. It reminds him of Togami in a way, when they had first started travelling around. The call from Theo for Boris to run away with him, Boris is uncertain. Boris is just a kid too. Boris knows something Theo doesn’t. 

Boris is also a hypocrite. He says things, doesn’t follow up on them. Tells Theo that they should run away together, when the chance presents itself, he falters. But unlike Boris, speaker of many languages and boy of many experiences and questionable connections, Rantaro had taken Togami hand and hand and ran away with him, away from their personal Las Vegas of Tokyo and went somewhere else. Somewhere Togami could maybe call home for a bit, for two years. They eventually spoke their truths instead of leaving it in the air. 

Of course, it wouldn’t be what he expected, but he’d grow used to it. He got his ocean legs, he let his hair grow out for a while (that was cut as soon as they returned to Tokyo. Whether or not he’d also pick up the responsibilities that came with that heir title again was still in the air, but the answer at the moment seemed to be an overwhelming no), he learnt how to tie (some) boat knots. He adapted, he came back different. 

Him and Togami also aren’t as completely awful for each other. He’d like to think that they may benefit one another in some way.

There’s something unspoken between the two characters, and that is, of course, _ I lo _ -

"A guest is here for you two, early."

_ Komaeda _ . Him and Togami had actually ran into him several times after graduating Hope's Peak and after their little run-away stint. Three years after graduation, four now. Always in some kind of misfortune. He seemed to be aimlessly wandering a lot of the time, or spacing out. He remembers Christmas day, nearly a year ago. Him and Togami had decided to spend it inside for the most part, but there was a particular restaurant both of them wanted to try. Reservations were no issue, both of them enjoyed later reservations. Less people, usually more isolated.

Who else did they run into but one Nagito Komeada, breath fogging up in the darkness of the streets at seven pm, their reservation in half an hour, they quite literally bumped into him. There was a hurried, begrudged apology and he seemed ready to move on until he looked up.

_ "Ah! Amami-kun, Togami-kun." _

To make a long story short, Komeada ended up coming along with them that night.

Togami never said anything about "indulging a charity case" as he had times prior, during or after. He was actually the one who invited him to come along with them, telling him to stop looking like a kicked puppy on the side of the road. Amami was fine enough with it, he wasn’t an unwelcome presence despite some of his more unpleasant traits. He was clearly not dressed for somewhere as expensive as where they were going, but it was to be expected with Komeada and the situation. They pulled him into it at the last minute.

When they arrived, there was the question of could they even get a third chair. They had only made a reservation of two, but even so they could probably get a chair pulled up for them. The restaurant didn’t seem too packed. There’s probably something free. There  _ will _ be something free.

Luck strikes again. A table of three had just cancelled. 

Komeada nursed down a glass of clear sparkling soda the entire time. 

When offered wine, he gave a rather long-winded ramble as a form of denial, putting up one shaky hand. 

_ "Ah, sorry, wine doesn't sit very well after I drink it. I really shouldn't . Bad with medi-" _

He stopped himself after, stirring the water with the straw that had been given to him for a moment before speaking up again in his usual soft tone.  _ “You don’t need to waste something like that on someone like me.” _

Him and Togami simply moved onto the next topic of conversation, dropping the question all together. It was hard to get Komeada engaged in certain conversations, he moreso.. observed them. He’d feign interest in the way that the ice cubes swirled around his cup when he moved his straw around, bright red painted nails bending it at the ends, but truly, he was leaning in to hear both of them better. He had always been like that, observing everyone as if he were a researcher in a group of foreign people, trying to learn more about them. He knew an inordinate amount of information about them, all of the Hope’s Peak Alumni. Yet, he always wanted to know more and more, despite his own tendency to ask the same questions over and over again. 

Wait, wasn’t that the colour he had given him after he painted his nails awhile back? He had never used red much, but Komaeda seemed to enjoy it. 

They tried to incorporate him into conversation some of the time, but both of them had the understanding that most times, he just enjoyed watching. Occasionally when Amami and Togami would disagree on something, or they had opposing opinions, they’d ask for Komeada’s opinion on the matter. Yet, he’d always reply with the same thing. 

_ “I shouldn’t pick favourites….”  _ _ A small, choked laugh _ _ “.. Ah, I can’t pick a favourite.” _

  
  


Amami had learnt during his school years, being one of the few people who openly tolerated him and was kind towards him, having the patience for his self deprecation and rambling, that he tried to drink things with straws when he could. He often got headaches if he moved his head around too much, hard to bring the glass to his lips with his shaky disposition. He could imagine that would make it hard to drink wine properly, and he hadn't thought of his medications. It felt odd, both of them knowingly doing something Komaeda couldn't.

Initially, he had refused to order any food. He  _ vehemently  _ refused to order any food, no matter how much both of them told him that he could or to just order something. Eventually, they got him to order something small. Some kind of soup which he never ended up finishing. 

After that, both of them had made a bit of a.. habit per-say of inviting Komeada over every so often. Or he would show up uninvited, and the maids knew to let him in by now. Every so often is an understatement however, as Komaeda was with them very regularly. They knew when he was supposed to come around, they were always told ahead of time. They had planned for the next day.

Now, Amami makes his way towards the entrance. He had quickly uttered a few words to Togami about letting him in. When he gets to the entranceway, he finds Komeada, shivering, cold and absolutely soaked from the rain outside, his hair tangled in all kinds of knots. 

Komaeda has grown out his hair over the years, it reaches to about his shoulders. Probably longer if he brushed it out properly. Not once had he ever seen him brush his hair.    
  
  
“Ah, Amami-kun. I hope you don’t mind me being here too early.”

Amami tilts his head. 

“Did you walk here in the rain?” 

Komaeda brings his hands up for a moment.

“Don’t worry about that Amami-kun! I just couldn’t get a drive and..” his hands drop, “Ah, Togami-kun. Good to see you too.”  
  


“You’re getting the floor wet.” A voice chips up from behind the two of them in the form of Togami walking down the stairs, shoes clicking with each slowly taken step, “Bring an umbrella next time. You wouldn’t look like a drenched rat if you did.”

“Sorry, Togami-kun.” It’s a quiet silent apology,  “Ah, don’t worry though, I’ll make sure to mop the floors. I don’t mind cleaning! I’ll clean the ent-” 

“We have people for that.”

Komaeda clasps his hands, wringing them a bit. A tick that had become like second nature to watch. 

“Ah, I’m sorry Togami-kun. I should have assumed.” 

“You’re gonna catch a cold if you stay like that. Come on.”

Amami, near instinctively places a hand on his back, guiding him up the small set of stairs. He’s shaky, shivering, but he’s moving like a stop-motion puppet, slowly and stiled until he eventually reaches the top, and is guided down a small hall. Togami comes in tow, on the other side of Komeada, eyes wavering down to his hands every so often only to look away again. 

“Ah, I really shouldn’t show up out of the blue like this, should I?”  Komaeda speaks through chattering teeth, placing near skeleton-like hands into his pockets, “It’s a bit of a bother, isn’t it?”   
  
“It’s water under the bridge, Komaeda-kun. Don’t worry about it.”

They reach the sitting room, and a small padded stool that was supposed to be used as a footrest, though neither of them ever used it as so, is placed near the fireplace for Komeada, but not too close. 

“The fireplace is right over here if you want to warm up.”  Amami pats the seat by the fireplace.  “I’ll go get a towel.”

Amami exits the room, leaving both Togami and Komeada alone. Komeada slowly makes his way over to the fireplace, looking into the flames for a moment. They cast a golden light on his face, the proximity of the warm flames almost feeling painful for a moment against the sheer cold of his hands. It’s like when one gets frostbite and needs to dip their hands into water. It’s like he’s being unthawed.

He takes a seat on the stool taken out for him, fixating on the flames once more. He wrings his hands, stopping to pick at the skin around his cuticles every so often. His nails are a chipped crimson, small bits of nail poking through the layer of colour. Another chip comes off. Komaeda sighs, picking it up and lazily tossing it into the open flames. There’s fresh flowers on the mantelpiece. The room smells like burnt wood. The raindrops are still hitting the window in that pitter-patter pattern.

Komeada’s nails still dig under the polish. Crimson, dark crimson. The colour of ripe black cherries or rot and scabs, it fits somehow. 

Another piece chips off. Another piece in the fire. 

“If I hadn’t known it was you, I would think there was a fresno nightcrawler in my house,”  He snaps the book shut, placing it beside himself for the time being. Lady moves her head from Togami’s arm, hopping off the couch, “You look like absolute hell.” 

"Ah, I guess I do look awful! I'm quite awful to look at."

From the couch comes Lady, trotting along. She hops up onto Komaeda’s lap, nuzzling her head into his arm. He still doesn’t face Togami, but he can hear a small laugh from Komeada then what sounds like a bit of a whine from him when Lady nips his hand. 

“Why are you here?”    


“Oh! My house burnt down!” Komaeda speaks of this event like he found an old dime stuck between some couch cushions, or as if he forgot eggs at the grocery store. 

“Your.. what?”

“My house, Togami-kun!”  Komaeda repeats the same line, as chipper as ever, but suddenly his voice drops into that tone it always does when he’s beginning to go on a tangent,  “Ah, I didn’t know where else to go, nobody else to go to, but I could always lay on the side of the road if you don’t want me here! I’ve done it before, it would be no pro-”

“Stop that.”  Komeada looks up from the fire at last. “We’re not going to kick you out, now stop saying those kinds of things. It’s irritating.”

"Aha.." he looks back at the fire, twining his fingers further into Lady's fur. She mews for a moment, starting to pur and splaying herself out on Komeada’s bony legs. How she finds it comfortable is beyond either of the men in the room, but she’s started to purr herself to sleep, laying like a limp doll of her namesake. 

“You’re strange, Komeada,” he hums, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Am I?”   
  


A set of footsteps ring down the hall as a familiar face enters the room, blow dryer, cordless, in hand. He's brought a blanket as well, strewn over his arm but quickly placed on a chair close to Komeada. He doesn’t need them for now.

"You should take off that sweater, it's better if you have less of your wet clothing on."

Komaeda nods, complying and shifting off, and awkwardly holding it for a moment, before Amami motions to the floor. To Togami’s dismay, Komeada hesitantly drops his sweater on the floor. It is sopping wet. It is getting on the hardwood, but neither Amami or Komeada seem to care. He holds his tongue and goes back to his book. He is staring down the sweater from behind his glasses, however. 

He picks up the brush next, taking a strand of matted hair and brushing through it. Amami notices when Komaeda winces, when he brushes through a rather tangled portion of hair, when he tugs a little too hard. He needs to get through at least a bit of this before trying to dry it. He continues to comb through it, the small crunches of knots slowly becoming more silent and the brush showing less resistance than before. 

“Are you alright if we get someone to get that sweater washed for you?”   
  
“Ah, don’t do that. You don’t need to burden yourselves with that kind of thing. It hasn’t been washed for years!” Togami looks at Amami. Amami looks at Togami. Amami nods. They’ll get someone to wash that later. If anything, Komeada has given them more reason to do so now than before. If they’re going to be around him for a while, neither of them want to deal with.. well.. the smell.

The brush eventually runs smooth enough through his hair after several minutes of going over and over the same knots again, trying to untangle them. Rantaro’s had to brush out incredibly knotted hair before, Nika got their mother’s curly hair, though the curls faded as she got older, and it always tangled to an unholy extent. He vividly remembers her crying due to how badly it hurt to brush through her knotted hair after she’d get caught up in the wind or after playing at the park. Amami was always the one to do it, his father never had the same patience for it that he did.

“Tell me if it’s too hot.”    
  
Komaeda nods, sitting hauntingly still afterwards. It reminds him of a statue, or of those times as a child where he’d have to stand deathly still for a cameraman in a too-large family photo, be told to smile and look at the camera, trying to keep his eyes open so he didn’t ruin the photo. So they didn’t need to stand here for any longer. So he could sit down and ease his shaking legs. His legs always hurt after photo sessions, his back as well. Having to stand still and straight for so long as a ten-year-old child was not easy for Amami to do.

Rantaro realizes he’s been going over the same long strand of hair for the past minute, over and over again. 

“Sorry.”   
  


“Don’t apologize to me, Amami-kun!”    
He leaves it at that. 

  
He continues onto the next section of hair, lazily combing through it and fluffing it out as he continues on. Komaeda’s hair is unbelievably frizzy once it’s been dried out, anyone who didn’t know him well would assume he’s bleached his hair to kingdom come and completely destroyed it. Rantaro, however, knows better. He knows it’s naturally that way.   
  


“Ah, I really shouldn’t show up out of the blue like this, should I?” His fingers tangle into Lady’s fur, slowly petting her. He takes such caution as if he could break her in half with his spindly hands if he dared tug at one tuft of her pelt with too much strength,  “It’s a bit of a bother, isn’t it?”

Once fully brushed out, and relatively free of the few tangles that had occurred while drying his hair, Rantaro combs back his bangs, taking a few sections of hair from the sides of his head. Rantaro can’t help but notice the light brown bits of his hair. Komaeda’s hair is dirty, no doubt about it, but the light brown just grazing the tips doesn’t seem to be dirt. It doesn’t crumble off in his hand. 

“It’s water under the bridge, Komaeda-kun. Don’t worry about it.”

The pieces of hair are tied together, leaving half of Komeada’s hair up, the other half down. When it’s brushed out like this, despite the natural waviness, his hair reaches just an inch past his shoulder blades. It’s quite long, and Rantaro can only wonder when he had his last haircut, or if he cut his hair at all. 

With his face clear as so, it’s easy for anyone to notice just how sickly Komeada is. His cheekbones look hollower than most, the bags under his eyes are clear - he surely hasn’t slept well for a while - his eyes look exhausted, near red tracing the edges. He’s thin, sickeningly thin. It’s worrying to say the least. 

Togami has already gotten enveloped in his book again. Theo’s on the bus by now, headed home with Popchyk. Even if he’s hiding the dog in his bag still. He’s taking him out every so often, behind gas stations to help the dog. Giving him water, taking him out of the bag to give him food. A scraggly little white-furred dog with those dark beady eyes. Dear to both Boris and Theo. Though he assumes Komeada won’t be getting fat anytime soon. 

Why did he think of Komaeda?

“You don’t need to pity me, Amami-kun! ” Komeada turns his head a bit, looking at Amami from the corner of his eye,  “I know it’s burdensome! You don’t have to pretend it’s not.”

Amami shakes his head, placing the brush atop the folded towel that had been placed to the side. The blanket is placed over his shoulders. He’s still shivering even if he’s by the blistering heat of the fireplace. 

“It’s really no fuss, Komaeda-kun. Like I said, no need to worry bout it.”

He looks down at Komeada’s hands, now gripping the edge of the blanket given to him, pale fingers running against the soft black fabric. White and fluffy underside Even if half of it is chipped off, Amami can tell the job was shakily done in the first place. It looks like his nails have been scabbed over. His cuticles were always awful, he took horrible care of himself, and the scarring on his hands was noticeable even from far away. It seemed like not a place on Komeada’s skin (at least what he could see) was untouched by scars.

“I should repaint your nails sometime.”   
  


Komaeda looks up.

“Sorry, just a thought. I haven’t done it in a while is all,”  he hums,  “Painted someone else’s nails.”   
  
He hasn’t in awhile. He remembers back in their school days, Komaeda would often eye his hands until Amami eventually asked him why. He pointed out the polish on Amami’s nails, and quickly muttered something about how he’d paint his nails but his hands were far too shaky for it. The idea of doing that now? It makes him nostalgic.

He hasn’t painted his nails (Komaeda’s) since their school days. Never got the chance to ask, never saw the opportunity. The idea of it gives him a bit of nostalgia, takes him back to when he was 18, never getting enough sleep, staying up until unholy hours of the night due to nightmares and constantly changing time zones. Late nights spent in the library. Sometimes it was all three of them when all of them were still together at Hope’s Peak during Amami’s first year.

Togami and Komaeda were both people who shared that trait with him. Whether it be due to insomnia or an unhealthy reliance on caffeine, he often ended up running into one or the other when he was around campus. His last year became rather lonely for that reason, neither of them being present. He didn’t exactly make too many friends, even if he was a familiar friendly face to most. He would run into Harukawa every so often, but the reception often wasn’t warm. Ryoma was another rare occurrence he can remember, but the conversation was often brief.

“Ah! Maybe you should ask Toga-”   
  
“No.”

Amami lets out a little chuckle, lowering his voice to an almost whisper,  “Byakuya would never let me. I’ve asked him before. Very stern on it. He’s a bit of a… stick in the mud sometimes.”   
  


“I am  _ not. _ I simply do not want to.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

He remembers the occurrence vividly. Grocery store, cosmetics aisle while they were still travelling. Togami’s hair was still down to his shoulders, loosely tied back. Amami always knew he could do a better job if Togami just let him touch his hair. It’s ironic. He let him kiss him and sleep in the same bed as him, that was what was natural to them, but never let him touch his hair or even bring scissors close to it when he would say he needs a haircut. 

He held out the polish to him. He looked at it for a moment, maybe even considering it, before uttering something about not enjoying it and handing it back. That was a boundary Amami respected, even if he did just call him a stick in the mud. Not everyone is going to like things like that. Not everybody wants their nails painted. 

_ “If you’re asking for me, no. Never....”  _ _ He looks at the bottle, _ _ “But it would look just fine on you.” _

_ “Was that a compliment?” _ _   
  
_

_ “Don’t make me take it back, Amami.” _

  
  


Komaeda stays in the guest room that night. And the next, and the next. It somehow feels natural, the three of them together in the sitting room during the mornings, Amami with a cup of tea, black, nothing added. If it were coffee, there would be an unhealthy amount of cream and sugar added to it, making the coffee near white. He only drinks it black if it’s cold brew. Togami would settle down with some book from their library, flipping through unfamiliar pages or familiar ones. Playscripts, novels, sometimes even poetry books. Komeada would simply stare into the flames of the fireplace, Lady joining him in his sessions of gazing into open flames. 

Sometimes the two of them join him on the couch, Amami leaning on his shoulder and Komaeda oddly leaning on the side of the couch. He feels more distant from the two of them, but when only a few days began turning into weeks, it was like he slowly crept closer and closer until he was hovering over the pages. Sometimes the two of them would be swatted away, other times Togami would pay no mind. Of course, that all depended on the day. 

It’s hard to think of a reason why they’ve kept him around so long. Both of them know Komaeda has enough money to get a hotel, to buy a new house. But every time the discussion how long they should let him stay for, the answer they reach is always the same.

However long he wants to. It’s not like he doesn’t randomly show up anyways.

There was a little part of him, a little bit before they started seeing Komeada more often, before he started basically living with him, that believed Togami might have been cheating on him with Komaeda. He never truly spoke about his feelings surrounding it, it’s a topic he doesn’t enjoy touching on considering his own father. It’s not something he’d like to speak about, and it’s not like he had some kind of damning proof that anything was going on, only a feeling. 

He’s noticed how Togami looks at Komaeda sometimes. He would feign some level of annoyance or sternness, but occasionally he’d see a smile crack, just as he did when both him and Amami were dancing around their feelings for one another. Amami likes to think that he can read people’s intentions well. After looking for them for so long during his travels with scammers and suspicious figures, he’s gotten a bit of a knack for it. He wouldn’t doubt feelings are there, but it doesn’t seem like they’re actively planning anything. But for a while, Amami was paranoid about it.

But it aggs at the back of his mind sometimes. He doesn’t want to believe that Togami would do something like that to him. He’s aware he’s been looking too, at the both of them. He doesn’t know what to think about it, he doesn’t know what to do about it. Considering his own father, he’s wary to approach the topic. Is it cheating to fall in love with someone other than your partner? Just by the pure fallacy of the feeling. Just the concept of liking someone else. Open relationships aren’t something that Amami is a big fan of the idea of. Polyamory isn’t something he’s considered up until this point either, but god knows how Togami would react if he asked if he’d like to invite Komeada into their relationship. How would he even start that conversation? Would that be  _ healthy  _ for Komaeda? Would he know how to say no to an offer like that if it came up?

Jealousy, it’s something Amami falls victim to easier than he’d like to admit. He’d be falling to it more if he didn’t find himself smiling at the same things too. The way his face lit up when they had bought him that scarf after he said he didn’t usually get anything for Christmas, both of them insisted that he just take it. He quickly muttered something about luck, then thanked them. 

It’s a complicated mess in Amami’s opinion, more complicated than it ever needs to be. So much more complicated. It’s an utter mess. It’s going through Amami’s brain at all hours of the day. It goes through his head every time they all sit on the same couch together, it goes through his head when the three of them walk down the street together. It goes through his head when he sees Komaeda wandering through the halls at night instead of sleeping when he goes to get a glass of water in the middle of the night, parched with a dry throat. 

A complicated mess that became even messier when Komaeda was eventually invited into their room. Both of them agreed it was alright, it was a mutual understanding of sorts. It’s something that came naturally. Just an innocent proposal of “why don’t you sleep with us tonight?” That border between them just being friends with him and him becoming an active part of their relationship was starting to degrade, and neither of them ever knew how to approach the topic. It was a discussion they needed to have. A discussion they needed to have  _ badly. _ But with Rantaro’s lying by omission, and Togami’s hesitance to open up about much of anything, it hasn’t come up yet.

Yet, being the last one awake, facing Togami with Komeada softly breathing, he barely sounds alive, and wedged between them, something feels just utterly right in the confusing mess. An arm stretched out to reach Togami’s hip, and his other hand that somehow made its way under Komeada’s hair, loosely combing through the white tufts.

  
What is he going to do?   
  
What  _ are _ they?


End file.
